These Times
by MegalegU
Summary: It's not always easy, honestly, to be someone that refuses to color outside the lines, especially if he can't exactly give names to the colors to begin with.


**A/N: **I came up with this very late at night, so my apologies if it doesn't really make much sense. Set mid-season four - AU fic in which Hank and Evan mend their argument. Title goes to SafetySuit's song 'These Times'. It kinda goes with the story, if you wanna listen.

* * *

See, the thing is, Evan learned to stop wishing for things a long time ago. It probably _(no, it definitely, but he doesn't like to admit it, not even in his thoughts) _traces back to the beginning, when his mom got sick and he spent hours at her bedside, throwing wishes to whatever deity happened to be listening, giving himself obstacles, little projects like, _if I pass four nurses down the walk to the room, mom will get better. If I make my toast perfectly this morning, dad will come home. _As if perfecting such little project or happenstance would solve everything – if it was the perfect time of day, noon preferably, in the skylight, then everything that wasn't perfect would click into place.

But everyone has to grow up and even when his toast was perfectly golden brown and he was sitting crisscrossed, eyes clenched tight, 12:00 sharp in the skylight, nothing happened. Things as fragile as a thought, a prayer, they weren't as powerful as diseases or money. As time went on, Evan learned that if he wanted anything to go his way, he needed some kind of leverage. He needed facts and figures and solid evidence that could never be permeated with gray matter, with what-ifs. As an accountant, there was no room for error, no exception to veering off course.

**OoOoOoOo**

But he can't just be an _accountant, _some epitomizer that wears suits and talks about sales all day. No, Evan's got to try and get a laugh _(try) _because if he's not making someone smile, he assumes he's not doing his job, at least not his underlying one, the one that requires him to laugh at himself once in a while, move Hank to jostle out of his shell, like he had to do when mom was sick. It's not always easy, honestly, to be someone that refuses to color outside the lines, especially if he can't exactly give names to the colors to begin with.

So when he's outside one night, just sitting in his patio chair and staring at the stars, he has to resist not to wish, because he's got to realize someday that it'll never change a thing. His mom will still be gone, his dad will still float in and out of his life, only to ask imploringly each time, "How's Hank?" and Hank, well, he'll block out any type of change Evan tries to put in the company because maybe _(no, definitely) _that's his thing – he's made a mold for himself, like Evan and his wishes, and maybe if he moves, it'll all crumble.

So really, it only makes sense that Evan and Hank separate the business, try and build all new foundations instead of just expanding anew because Evan's tired of losing grasp on hope and Hank's refusing to feel anything at all that he's allowed himself to – like he's got an emotional quota, a spot that held vulnerability very long ago, but now only stretches to a wall.

And maybe it's a little exhilarating to be on his own but it's different without Hank because even if he could be stubborn as a mule, he was still that guy that walked into a room and made you feel at ease. And it's hard to replicate that into anything else _(into another doctor, actually) _and when he crosses paths with his brother at breakfast or whatever there's a fleeting notion that if he keeps this up, they'll both just be these memories to each other.

**OoOoOoOo**

It's actually relieving when they finally talk and laughter tumbles from Evan as if it's a placer emotion, something to express everything in a form he only knows how and Hank laughs too, because tough as it is to admit, they need each other to keep all of this going – without Hank there's no connection with the patients, no unfathomable medical knowledge that can cure a heart attack with a pencil and a can of soda, no tether that can grasp someone down, have his blue eyes find theirs and watch breath get exhaled. And Evan? He's just holding it all together with his crazy spiels and animated gestures that Hank can barely catch up with – managing to fix phones and crack jokes, even when he's trembling all over because really, it's been ingrained in him since day one to be the guy that holds a smile, just so you know _you _don't have to.

There's a day when it all stops and Evan looks back with wonderment, retracing his steps like can just get to the origin of how he and Hank ever thought it was possible not to work together, their indelible brotherly-duo path as stark as night. But maybe the fact that they temporarily separated doesn't matter all that much, at least not anymore.

He and Hank kind of just look at each other one day and nothing's ever really spoken aloud but there's a silent agreement somewhere and the next day, Evan's back to promoting HankMed and Hank's taking care of patients and Divya's there, somehow knowing with that omniscient look of hers.

Evan stands his ground on change and Hank's not budging but they're sitting at the kitchen table together, which has got to count for something, so Evan drops it for a moment, lets him forget career aspirations for the time being and Hank eases up and maybe, finally, things slide into a new type of definition for perfect, one that's not flawless and pristine, but maybe a tad tainted, a new formula to work into the equation.

**end**


End file.
